No Rest for the Wicked
by finnorama
Summary: Suspecting the build-up to war survived Alexander Marcus, Kirk sets out to uncover a Section 31 plot. Without knowing whom to trust, the Captain must go it alone with his senior officers... and he has a crush on one of them. Rated M for language. My first shot at fanfiction! Please be kind :)


"Two drinks tonight, Jim."

"Oh, c'mon, Bones. Live a little!"

Jim Kirk could feel his strength returning. His legs held his weight again, and – miracle of miracles – moved him forward. He almost, _almost,_ filled out his shirts... and damned if there wasn't a little color in his cheeks when he looked in the mirror this morning.

It was 10 weeks ago that the _Enterprise_ got caught between a terrorist hell-bent on destruction and an admiral hell-bent on war. 10 weeks since his ship took a beating so brutal, his only option was to launch himself into a lethal radioactive chamber to save it. That agonizing slog to the warp core was followed by months of painful treatments and relentless debriefings. Worst of all was the slow, heart-breaking realization of all that had been lost, in space, and on the ground.

Jim longed for a turning point. Tonight, he had his doctor's okay to step out. They were meeting Scotty in a trendy bar in the Mission District. Truth be told, the place was a little upscale for Jim's tastes, but… whatever. He was happy to be going out with friends, like an almost-normal 26-year-old guy.

Just before they rounded the corner to the bar's entrance, Jim heard a voice he swore he knew, but...

"_FUCK YOU! Fuck you 'til your nuts turn purple and climb up into your SORRY LITTLE ASS." _

Somehow, the word "ass" sounded elegant in a British accent.

He shared a disbelieving glance with McCoy.

"_Take your puny excuse for a tool and wave it at some other tragic, gullible idiot."_

The two men rounded the corner, and there she was: Carol Marcus, livid, yelling at some poor boob who looked like he'd rather be cringing in a Klingon sewer than standing, jaw agape, on this brightly lit street corner.

"_DON'T comm me. Don't even pass me in the BLOODY STREET! We are DONE." _

Jim had no idea who Carol's mystery date was and whether, in calmer circumstances, he had the capability of speech. The best the guy could do under Carol's barrage was sputter. Eventually the man shook his head and walked away.

Until the object of her fury almost bumped Jim's shoulder, Carol had no idea the Captain and CMO were standing there.

"Wow," Jim mouthed. Beside him McCoy was silent, eyes wide, lips quirking with amusement.

"Captain," Carol stumbled. "Dr. McCoy, I…"

Carol apparently thought better of whatever she was going to say. Or maybe she figured she'd said enough. She let her sentence die away, and shifted on her feet.

"I'm impressed, Lieutenant." Kirk let the grin spread across his face. "I didn't know you had it in you."

Her pretenses blown to hell, Carol simply stated, "He fucking well deserved it."

Without another word she turned on her high, pointed heel, and strode into the bar.

Scotty wore a big smile as he waved the captain and doctor over to the table he was holding. He had a bottle of scotch and three glasses waiting, though from the spills on the tablecloth and the engineer's lopsided posture, it was clear he'd already helped himself.

"Good to see you out and about, Captain," Scotty said. "It's been too long since we raised a wee glass together."

"Cheers to that, Scotty." Jim raised his glass with a smile.

"That's not a "wee" glass, Scotty. Let's go easy tonight."

"Don't be a buzz kill, Bones." Jim took a slow sip, letting the smoky finish warm his mouth. "Nice, Scotty. What is this?"

Scotty turned the bottle's faded black label toward the captain. The scotch was old, and from what Jim could tell, pricey.

"We can't have yer first drink be crap, now, can we?"

"Much appreciated, Mr. Scott." Jim took another swallow. Almost unconsciously, his eyes roamed toward the bar where Carol Marcus stood with several women he didn't know. It looked like they were making small talk, but Carol was obviously, if quietly, fuming.

It took effort to shift his gaze across the table to Scotty. "How's our girl?"

"Aye, she's coming along, Captain, but it's a slow job. The hull damage on Decks 7 and 9 is nigh fixed. We're still waitin' fer weapons control parts, and the warp core…" Scotty flinched at his own words, remembering all too well the last time the Captain had seen the warp core.

Jim, however, didn't miss a beat. "Maybe I'll come on up and…"

"No you won't, Jim." McCoy cut him off. "Not for two weeks or more."

"Bones…"

McCoy thumped his empty glass on the table and reached for the bottle. "Can we just have a God-damned drink and enjoy ourselves without you two mentally undressing the _Enterprise_?Christ!"

Jim's mouth opened to protest, but all that came out was a delighted laugh. The doctor and engineer responded in kind, and without even noticing, the three friends fell into the comfortable, colorful conversation they were known for on their ship.

Jim didn't even realize his eyes kept flicking toward the bar.

After awhile, McCoy looked at his best friend and very pointedly asked, "Why don't you just go over there?"

"Wha…? Oh."

"Apparently, Scotty, we're not pretty enough." McCoy cocked his head as he spoke, and Scott responded with a knowing nod.

Jim saw Carol gather a jacket from the back of her seat.

"True enough." Jim shot a crooked grin at his friends.

He rose with his drink and started toward her.

Carol blanched as she saw him approach. She nodded a quick farewell as her companion headed for the door, and with a look of resignation, turned toward the _Enterprise _captain.

"Trying to sneak out, huh?" Jim teased.

Carol gave him a brief, obligatory smile as she slipped an arm through the sleeve of her jacket. "It's good to see you looking well, Captain."

"Jim, remember?" he corrected. "We're in a bar, not on the bridge. And I think you put your arm in the wrong sleeve…"

Carol rolled her eyes and wondered if she could sink any lower in the eyes of the man in front of her. She yanked at the jacket. "This is not…" Once again, she let the sentence wither, offending jacket in hand.

"Don't go yet" Jim's voice was soft. "You've obviously had a rough night, and you look like you can use a drink."

"I've had a drink," she said smartly. "I've had a few drinks, actually. You probably could tell that earlier."

"Have one with me."

Carol looked at him fully for the first time that night. Even in the darkened bar, his eyes were a vivid blue. They were dangerous for her, those eyes—something she'd discovered the very first time they'd met, on a shuttle enroute to the _Enterprise. _ Back then, she'd written him off as little more than an empty uniform with a pretty face and a hero complex—a guy who'd bested Nero and the _Narada_ with more luck than skill. That seemed like a lifetime ago. She'd learned better. Much better, which only made the blue eyes more dangerous.

Still, it had been a long night, in a string of long days, nights, weeks. Part of her wanted to go home and hide under the covers. Then again, he was right here, and he had this pull, like gravity…

"What will you have?" Jim's smile grew.

Carol laid her jacket back on the barstool.

They talked for an hour, mostly catching up on events since they'd last seen each other. Carol had been a frequent visitor to Jim's hospital room, but he'd convalesced in the apartment Starfleet kept for him, hemmed in by McCoy's hovering, and wiped out by PT and debriefings.

"I thought about stopping by," Carol said, "but I knew you needed rest, and…"

"I would've loved a visit…"

Carol was healing, too, he knew. Neither one brought up that horrific day... the one that started with a manhunt for the deadly superhuman, Khan, and ended with her father dead and more destruction to the city of San Francisco than Planet Earth had seen in a century. 24, maybe 36 hours became a tragedy of epic scale, and Jim and Carol were central characters. Somehow, it was still too raw for the two of them, together, to deal with head on. They nibbled away at the periphery—his recovery, her broken leg—dancing around the edges of their grief.

Other conversations were easier.

"So, who's the guy?"

Carol's mouth curved into a small smile, despite the embarrassment clear on the rest of her face.

"Some guy. Do we really have to go there?"

"I want to know. I want to know who can drive the unflappable Carol Marcus to holler…what was it again…?"

He could see her turn red before she hid her face in her hands.

"Fuck you until your dick turns purple…? Was that it?" He was chuckling.

She feigned indignance. "I'm sure I didn't use the word 'dick.'"

Now he let out a belly laugh. "Oh, right! That would be crass! It wasn't the poor sap's dick turning colors; it was his balls! Much classier!"

She dropped her hands and looked up at him. She didn't respond, but her expression screamed "mea culpa."

"Carol Marcus, before tonight, I didn't think I could respect you more than I already did."


End file.
